“What d’you want for your birthday?” Keishin drawled as he set the night’s bottle of sake down on the table. It was the seventh time in a month that he’d asked that question.
Ittetsu leaned back, relaxing into the warm fuzz of alcohol and the heat of the kotatsu blanket. “You said yesterday that you found a gift for me already. I’m sure it will be perfect.”
Keishin smiled, all lopsided and self-conscious. “It’s alright. But I wanna know what you want.”
Ittetsu sipped at his drink and smiled at him. Keishin was a sweet man. His hands were calloused rough from work and the people he lived for, those dozens of lives he had quietly dedicated himself to. In the light of all that, Ittetsu’s birthday was a small thing. “I’m happy just to spend time with you.”
“I know. That’s why I’m asking what you want.” Keishin shifted, tilting his head to that angle Ittetsu liked, the look that had first sent his brain scurrying after so many dirty fantasies. He dropped his voice to a low growl, like a tiger—or the illusion of one. “Should I bring candles and rose petals to scatter on the bed? D’you wanna boss me around, or just have me fuck you senseless while you beg for more? What do you want?”
Ittetsu’s cheeks went hot, his mind sputtering over endless possibilities for then and now. He waited for a moment to respond, mostly so he could enjoy watching Keishin’s face turn red as his embarrassment caught up with him. Keishin was like that, his suave moments chased by adorable uncertainty. His ears went pink, and soon they had matching blushes in the chilly air of the apartment. “But Keishin,” Ittetsu said finally, “Would that be a gift for you or for me?”
“We don’t hafta do anything if you don’t want,” Keishin backpedaled. “I’m happy with cuddles and movies or a night out if that’s better. I just thought that… since we hadn’t had much time together lately…”
Ittetsu set a hand on Keishin’s thigh. “Ah, you thought I would be drowning in lust by now.” He slid his hand up, tracing a line along Keishin’s inner thigh. “Well, you’re not wrong.” He shifted his hand up and to the side before he could reach Keishin’s groin. “I’ve missed having more than a quickie. I’ve just never really known what to make of special birthday sex. It’s not as if this is the only time you want to please me, is it?”
Keishin swallowed, watching Ittetsu’s hand. He was so cute like this, all wide-eyed as if the world was some new bauble that spun on Ittetsu’s fingertips. “It’s not,” he agreed.
“And it’s not as if the fact that it’s my birthday makes your limits or needs any less important,” Ittetsu said.
“Well, no, but…” Keishin bit his lip. “We could still do something special, if y’ wanted.”
“I want to,” Ittetsu admitted. His mind danced with possibilities again. “Can it be something we’ve talked about, but haven’t tried yet?”
Keishin nodded, his cheeks still pink. “Yeah, whatever you want.”
“I want to surprise you,” Ittetsu said, tracing another line across his thigh. “Is that fair? Could you handle it?” The words were a dare. Ittetsu liked this game, turning phrases to lap against Keishin’s defenses, teasing him until he sprang into action or fell pliant into his hands.
Keishin could sense the challenge Ittetsu dangled in front of him and bit down on it. “Just try me,” he said, a proud tilt to his head.
“Should I bring anything?” Keishin asked.
“Just clothes.” Ittetsu could see it now, a little dream of pleasure and power. He smiled, then told Keishin what to wear.
The evening of Ittetsu’s birthday, Keishin arrived with an armful of gifts. He greeted Ittetsu with a kiss, then cooked him his favorite meal. He fussed over the exact proportions of the nikujaga recipe, wanting to make it the way Ittetsu’s mother made it. Ittetsu didn’t care. He liked most everything Keishin cooked for him, and the slight differences in taste were reminders of the unique space they shared together.
The gifts themselves were sweet and thoughtful, just like their giver. A bottle of sake from where Ittetsu had grown up, a rare anthology of anarchist poetry, and a notebook with little affirmations Keishin had hand-written in the margins. It was almost too much, but it would be an excuse to truly sweep Keishin off his feet on his own birthday in April. Ittetsu was thinking of candles, roses, a bold declaration of emotion to make him swoon before they made love in some luxurious hotel.
But he was getting ahead of himself.
Tonight, they had other plans.
Keishin shifted until he was settled comfortably in the chair. True to Ittetsu’s instructions, he had worn his red track suit. Ittetsu had always liked this one, with its brash color and the way the ochre stripes down the sides accentuated his athletic frame. The fabric was stretched slightly over his chest, from the way his arms were cuffed to the chair back behind him. Matching cuffs were around his ankles, holding him to the legs of the chair. It wasn’t the most elaborate or elegant binding, but it would be firm and comfortable for what Ittetsu had in mind.
Ittetsu was wearing plain black slacks with one of his better-fitting button up shirts and a dark tie. It was an outfit he wore often enough for work. Later, it would be fun to watch Keishin’s gaze flicker when he saw him, remembering tonight when they were drinking with friends or fellow coaches. Ittetsu would worry about it being confusing for himself, but the sensation of his silk underwear was separation enough from his work persona. The butt plug in his ass helped, too.
“Does anything need to be adjusted before we begin?” Ittetsu asked, as he looked Keishin over again.
Keishin leaned back, failing to hide his smile. “Nah, y’did good. Now, what are you doing to me today?”
Ittetsu went over the scene in his mind. The first aid kit was in his bag on the table. The bed was laid out behind him, with a soft blanket on top in case the game became too much. The space heater had been running for an hour, and the room was warm enough that Keishin wouldn’t catch a chill.
“You’re so eager,” Ittetsu said. He stroked Keishin’s cheek, then traced his fingers over his jaw. “What if this was all I wanted?”
“That’d be fine.” Keishin smirked. “Though, it’d seem a little out of character for my ambitious sensei.”
Ittetsu felt his ears turn pink. It was easy to forget the way Keishin saw him, though more from his own humility than any lack of sweet words from the man.
“You know me so well,” he allowed. He slipped his fingers through Keishin’s hairband and pulled it loose, letting his yellow locks fall free. “Are you warm enough?”
“Too warm.” Keishin tilted his head back, an invitation to the jacket’s zipper at his throat.
Ittetsu slid the zipper down, the little teeth unlocking to reveal the thin fabric of Keishin’s undershirt. He pulled the jacket off his shoulders then let it pool uselessly around the chair and the cuffs. Keishin shifted to help him, stealing little moments of contact as he did. His breathing was rough already, his body keen with anticipation.
The undershirt was a plain, white, flimsy thing that Ittetsu had bought for him. A courtesy for tonight, since most of Keishin’s t-shirts were too nice, full of color and design, and many carried some special meaning or memory for him. It was strange now, to see him wearing this bargain-package wisp of a thing. Ittetsu ran his hand over it, noticing that the fabric was thin enough to see partway through.
“Didn’t know why you wanted me t’wear this,” Keishin purred. “Not until I put it on.” His nipples were clearly visible through the fabric, along with the shadow of a muscle here and there.
It was a pleasing vision, an unexpected vista on a longer journey. Ittetsu savored it, but remembered the bigger adventure of the night.
He turned from the sight, then reached into his bag on the table. He pulled out a folded metal pocket knife. It was a touch larger than would be useful for any daily task, and was crafted with a subtle curve, dangerously sensual. The cold weight of it was exciting in his palm, familiar from hours spent practicing on his own.
Keishin’s eyes were laser focused on him. Ittetsu held it out so he could see, then opened the knife with a practiced, dangerous click.
“Oh,” Keishin gasped, a soft exhale Ittetsu would have missed if he hadn’t been waiting for it.
“You remember our conversation,” Ittetsu said, turning the knife slightly to glint in the light.
“Yeah. You didn’t seem that sure, at first.” Keishin was staring at the metal. There was something in his eyes that Ittetsu only saw on rare occasions. Mostly when he was looking at an impossibly strong opponent on the court, equal parts intimidated and eager for the challenge.
“I’ve become acquainted with it,” Ittetsu said.
It was Keishin who first brought up the idea of knifeplay. It was unfamiliar territory, but Ittetsu was nothing if not persistent. He had researched it carefully, then spent weeks practicing, first with a plum, then idly tracing his own skin until he was confident he could wield the blade safely and with deliberate confidence. “We can do something else if you’re not in the space for this tonight,” he said, offering a way out. “There’s plenty of things that would be worth doing to you.”
Keishin swallowed, his eyes still locked on the knife. “I’m up for it. …It is your birthday, after all.”
“How kind of you to indulge me.” Ittetsu said.
Ittetsu brought the knife to Keishin’s chest and did a soft, experimental drag over the shirt. The blade lay almost flat and in the opposite direction of the stroke, gliding smoothly without cutting. The knife promised danger and sensation, meant to tease but never truly harm.
Keishin bit his lip, transfixed, as Ittetsu dragged the blade over him again, this time letting the tip of it tease at the fabric of the shirt. Keishin let out a rough exhale, then his eyes lifted to meet Ittetsu’s.
Ittetsu smiled, pleased that the introduction of the knife had gone well. He dragged it down, tracing a line from the shirt collar to Keishin’s waist, his touch getting lighter as he went. When he reached the hem, he hooked his free hand underneath it, then turned the blade and slid it beneath the fabric.
The cloth held for a fraction of a second before the blade prevailed, the threads cutting clean and opening to reveal Keishin’s naked skin below. Ittetsu worked the blade up at a steady pace, careful that the tip stayed clear of them both. The shirt made a particular sound as he cut it, little whisper of thread and metal. Keishin’s breathing became more ragged as the knife worked upward.
“Tilt your head back,” Ittetsu commanded as the blade neared his collarbones.
Keishin obeyed. Ittetsu set his free hand under the shirt’s collar, such that a sudden movement or pull would endanger himself more than Keishin, then pulled the knife through the rest of the way, the collar breaking with a firm tug.
The fabric of the shirt draped open, revealing a valley of bare skin. The dip of Keishin’s collarbone and curves of muscle were caught by the light, open to whatever Ittetsu wanted. He pulled the remains of the shirt down and off Keishin’s shoulders, letting it join the jacket at his cuffed wrists.
Keishin took pride in his appearance, though it was the sort of pride that worked hard to conceal itself. He would spend hours bleaching and conditioning his hair, only to pull it back with a simple band. He wore piercings, too: some private, some not. These were little symbols of dissent, a protest of society’s request for perfect, untouched skin.
Not that Keishin would ever phrase things in such terms.
There were subtler things, too, that he knew Keishin didn’t intend but were just as much a part of him. The tan lines at his neck and biceps, lingering even in January, were evidence of a life spent working in the fields and sun for his family.
Ittetsu let his eyes and fingers run over all these layers of image and identity. He traced the line that curved from his throat and down his chest and belly, then dragged the back of his nails up. Keishin leaned into the touch, though his eyes stayed fixed on the knife in Ittetsu’s other hand.
Ittetsu traced his fingers up to circle around a nipple. He pinched it between his fingers, hard, twisting slightly. Keishin groaned and shifted under him, his eyes squeezing shut as Ittetsu found that edge between pleasure and pain.
Keishin made no move to pull at his restraints. Instead he squirmed in place, obedient to the unspoken command of the cuffs, letting Ittetsu do as he liked. He probably could have bound Keishin just as effectively with a simple order to be still. But the pressure of the cuffs was its own sensation, and Ittetsu needed to be certain that there would be no unexpected movements for this game.
He grabbed Keishin’s hair, tight, and pulled his head back. Satisfied his hold was secure, he brought the knife to Keishin’s throat and traced it lightly from his jaw to his collarbone, the blade laid flat and away. Keishin whimpered. A little sound that, by its pitch and familiarity, Ittetsu knew to be a good sign.
He traced another line, this time letting the tip of the blade tease across the skin. He ended the stroke on his chest, then carefully titled the blade up so the only contact was the point of the wicked thing. He let the weight of the knife itself rest there a moment, the tip of the blade denting but not breaking the skin. The metaphor was inescapable, the soul of all their games in a single motion: I could pierce your heart, but I won’t.
Then, he turned the knife and rested the dull back of the blade across Keishin’s throat, a cold line of pressure.
Keishin’s breathing was rough and rapid.
Ittetsu pulled the knife away. “How are you doing?”
Keishin grinned lazily, his head still pulled back. “I really wanna suck your dick right now,” he said. His voice was rough. Demanding. Cocky.
Ittetsu smiled. If Keishin was in the space to talk like that, things were going well. He could push further. “What makes you think you’ve earned that, Keishin?”
Keishin hesitated, his breathing still rough as he processed the new aspect of the game. “What do you want me t’ do?” he asked.
“Watch me.” Ittetsu pulled Keishin’s head back up, then let go. His blond hair fell partially over his face, a shock of amber grain or the light of a new morning. Delightfully tousled.
Ittetsu slipped off his tie, savoring the susurrus of the fabric as he pulled the silk out of the knot and then away from his collar. Keishin watched the motion, anticipation written clear across his face. Keishin liked it when Ittetsu used his tie as a gag or a blindfold, wrapped so tight around him that it edged on painful.
Ittetsu set the tie aside on the table, smiling as he watched Keishin’s face fall in disappointment.
Now wasn’t the time for that.
He grabbed a blindfold from his bag on the table. It was an actual blindfold, molded to conform comfortably to the face. There would be no room for peeking, and it wouldn’t provide any of its own sensations or (dis)comforts. He wanted Keishin to focus solely on what he had planned next.
“Do you trust me?” Ittetsu asked, holding the blindfold in front of Keishin.
“Yeah… though, it’s gonna make watchin’ you a little difficult,” Keishin teased.
Ittetsu felt his composure slip, embarrassment creeping at the edge of his psyche. “Brat,” he chided, and he slipped the blindfold over Keishin’s eyes, hopefully before he could see the red on his cheeks.
Ittetsu took a silent breath to compose himself, then picked up the knife again.
He pressed Keishin back into the chair, then traced the blade over him again. He thought of the skin of the plum that he’d practiced on, determining just how much he could push before it was too far. The cold smoothness was a poor comparison to Keishin’s flushed chest.
Ittetsu felt an immense awareness fill him as he worked. Keishin’s breathing, the delicate press of skin and metal, the location and pressure of the tip and edge of the knife. It all filled his senses, his mind clear and focused to this singular task.
He had wondered once if this is how the athletes felt during their games. He didn’t wonder about anything right now, lost in the present.
Keishin seemed lost, too. Ittetsu pulled the blade away.
It was time for his magic trick.
He ran his free hand over Keishin’s skin again, tracing everywhere he’d been with the knife, the touch a smooth and comforting sensation. In the meanwhile, he quietly folded the blade and set it in his pocket.
“You’re being so good,” Ittetsu said. He pulled a card out of the same pocket. It was an old credit card, and the rigid plastic had its own edge, leaving a sensation that could pass for the knife if the recipient didn’t know better.
He dragged the edge of the card over Keishin’s chest.
Keishin shuddered, his breathing hitching under the touch of the illusionary blade.
Ittetsu smiled, reality bending under his fingertips. He moved the card with the same deliberate pace that he’d move the knife, and Keishin groaned as he traced down to his belly then up to his throat again. He took more risks with the card, applying more pressure here and there, noticing what made Keishin react the most.
Confident, he traced the card just below one of Keishin’s nipples, then dragged it in and up.
Keishin groaned, then bit his lip.
“You’re alright,” Ittetsu said as he pressed harder. Then, as sudden as he started, he pulled away and left Keishin limp and out of breath.
“Fuck,” he panted. “I can’t believe anyone thinks you’re just some cute, innocent teacher.” Defiant, even as he was panting under Ittetsu’s touch.
Ittetsu smiled, relieved he hadn’t pushed too far. He hummed. “Does that mean you don’t think I’m cute?” he said.
“N-no,” Keishin backpedaled, “You are… you’re so…” He cut off into a whimper as Ittetsu dragged the card over his chest again. “You’re e-everything,” he shuddered.
“What a sweet present you are,” Ittetsu said. He dragged the edge of the card across Keishin’s collarbone.
Keishin tilted his head back and let out a noise somewhere between a groan and whimper, a rough lilt like birdsong or a rocky shore.
This was it, this was what Ittetsu had wanted to see. That moment when he melted, tense rigidity giving way to pliant putty in his hands.
“Such a pretty thing,” he said as he dragged the card lightly over Keishin’s throat. “Open, that I could write sonnets over your skin, leaving little histories of where I’ve been.”
That earned another soft moan. Keishin was limp, relaxed back into the chair. Ittetsu moved closer, drawn to him like gravity. He loved this, loved that Keishin could let him lose himself in whatever rolled off his tongue. He straddled Keishin’s leg as he traced the card over him, barely resisting the urge to grind into him.
“Do you have any idea what you inspire in me? The innocent want to kiss your hand turning into heat, boiling in my gut to lose myself in you, to stretch you out and let us both fall lost in the smoky haze of now?”
The card curved up and under Keishin’s chin.
“The light plays perfectly over you. Your lips, that angle of your head that invites me to use you however I want. And this side of you, the dark of the moon, so rarely revealed to anyone but me. It’s beautiful, Keishin.” He ran the edge down to Keishin’s chest again, grazing across his other nipple. “You’re beautiful.”
Keishin let out another little noise, his face flushed. He was weak to this sort of thing, weaker to it than even the knife, swooning under every romantic gesture Ittetsu could give him, even during times like this.
Ittetsu dragged the card up, then, digging hard into his other nipple. Keishin jerked and let out a whine that shouldered into a moan.
Ittetsu let the pressure off, just slightly, and Keishin relaxed again, as hot and supple as molten glass.
“Please,” he sighed.
“Yes? Tell me what you want, Keishin.” Ittetsu smiled and wondered if Keishin was alert enough to catch the echo of his own words.
Keishin panted, choosing his words carefully. “Can I—may I please suck you off?”
“I might enjoy that,” Ittetsu said. He noticed the way Keishin tensed, anticipation rolling through his body. “But first, I think you can handle a little more.” He tugged at the waistband of Keishin’ gym pants, a hint at his meaning. “What do you think, Keishin?”
“I can,” he said immediately. “Just touch me.” He swallowed and added, “Please.”
“How demanding,” Ittetsu chided. He put the card back in his pocket and shifted Keishin’s pants and underwear down, directing him to tilt his hips up so he could glide them off. They pooled around his ankles, trapped by the cuffs.
It was a beautiful sight, Keishin bound naked to the chair, fine physique relaxed, his held tilting back, his legs spread just enough for Ittetsu to see the tilt of his cock, already swollen to half hardness.
“Do you like what you see?” Keishin said, correctly reading Ittetsu’s pause as admiration.
“I do,” Ittetsu said. Keishin flushed under his words, unprepared for simple agreement. Ittetsu knelt down and let the knife open with a loud click. He set the tip of it against Keishin’s inner thigh and pressed gently. “Let me see more.”
Keishin obeyed, spreading his legs at the slow pace set by Ittetsu.
“Such a lovely gift,” Ittetsu sighed. He shifted the knife, ghosting it up Keishin’s thigh as he leaned forward, until he knew his breath would brush against his cock. “Open, a flower inviting me to devour him.”
Ittetsu had to admit it wasn’t his best line. But to be fair, the blood was rushing from his brain down to other areas, and his silk briefs were starting to feel uncomfortably tight.
He ran his mouth up Keishin’ thigh, sometimes kissing, sometimes dragging his teeth over the skin. He folded the knife and set it hurriedly aside, already too frantic with need to use it effectively. When he reached the crease between Keishin’s groin and thigh, he nuzzled into it, relishing the roughness of hair and the faint scent of sweat. He turned back to his inner thigh and bit, right where he imagined the line of his boxer briefs tended to rest.
Keishin cried out, his legs closing instinctively, pillars of muscle closing around Ittetsu’s head. There would be worse ways to go than crushed by those thighs. Still, it was his birthday and he had other plans.
He squirmed and made a little disapproving sound. “Keishin, keep them open.” He pulled out the card again and pressed the edge of it against Keishin’s thigh. He spread his legs obediently.
Ittetsu held the card there, then turned his attention to the magnificent hang of Keishin’s cock. It wasn’t the largest or the smallest he’d seen, but something about the proportions was perfect, a lurid work of art. The head curved into a gentle lip before the shaft, which even half-hard swelled pleasingly in the center, his frenum piercing glinting in the light. Below that hung his balls, heavy like a ripe plum.
Ittetsu indulged himself, gliding his tongue over it, tasting him, feeling the shape and weight of him in his mouth. He moved as he liked, with no pattern and no attempt to do more than tease. It was his birthday, after all. He relaxed and relished the feeling of Keishin swelling under his touch, hardening to something keen and desperate. Ittetsu fought the urge to undo his own fly and jerk himself off, an animal helpless at the feet of his lover.
Keishin’s breathing was rough, and he was struggling to keep himself spread as Ittetsu played lazily with him, the muscles in his thighs flexing when he ran his tongue over an especially sensitive spot.
“Ittetsu, please,” Keishin said, his voice a hoarse whisper. “Please let me…” He tilted his head back and groaned as Ittetsu ran his tongue over his piercing. “Please, fuck my mouth.”
It was good, that desperate edge in Keishin’s voice, his words turned from cocksure to pleading. Ittetsu stood up, placing the card in his pocket. “I want to,” he said, surprised at how rough his own voice was at this point.
Some repositioning was required. He stepped behind Keishin and uncuffed his hands. His fingers were warm, and here was only a slight indent in the skin where the cuffs had been. He let go, and the jacket and the savage remains of the undershirt slid off his wrists.
Keishin pulled his hands forward and stretched, rolling his shoulders. Ittetsu noticed he stretched one side more than the other, the side that often gave him trouble.
“How’s your shoulder?” Ittetsu asked.
Keishin rolled it again. “It’s fine,” he said.
It was not a convincing statement. Keishin would grumble loudly about the most minor discomforts, but if it was anything serious he’d just try to ignore it. He needed prompting, and as many open lines of communication as possible when something was wrong. This was why they didn’t use safewords, instead relying on clear language and Ittetsu’s careful observations.
Ittetsu grabbed Keishin’s hair and pulled his head back, firmly. “Keishin,” he said, “Tell me about your shoulder.”
Keishin seemed to think about it for a few breaths. “It’s stiff,” he admitted. “But it doesn’t hurt yet.”
Ittetsu kissed his forehead. “That’s good, thank you.”
He let go of Keishin’s hair and stepped around in front of him again. He pulled his wrists forward and together, then kissed each of Keishin’s hands. “I’d like to cuff these,” he said, searching Keishin’s reaction for any sign of discomfort.
“Yeah,” Keishin said, his voice soft. “Please.”
It was a good reaction, and the ‘please’ was a request for the game to resume in full. Ittetsu cuffed his wrists together, then stepped back. “I’m ready. Get up and kneel in front of me,” he said.
Keishin’s brow furrowed. “My ankles…”
“Do they hurt?”
“No, but...” he shifted slightly, showing they were still bound to the chair.
“I thought you’d be up for the challenge,” Ittetsu said. “Just don’t knock over my furniture.”
Keishin shifted his feet, feeling out how far he could adjust them without pulling on the chair legs. He stood up slowly, knees bent at an awkward angle around the chair, then eased his way to the floor. Ittetsu undid as many of the buttons on his shirt as he had the patience for while he watched him.
When Keishin was settled and kneeling in front of him, Ittetsu ran his hands through his hair. “I’m impressed,” he said. “Are you ready for your reward?”
Keishin slid his cuffed hands up Ittetsu’s slacks. “Yes, please,” he said.
Ittetsu pulled the blindfold off of him. Keishin blinked a few times, wincing in the sudden light, then looked up at Ittetsu with equal parts admiration and hunger in his eyes. Ittetsu undid his belt and fly and let Keishin pull his slacks and underwear down. He shuddered as Keishin wrapped his lips around his cock before they were even past his mid-thigh.
Keishin worked him earnestly, the molten heat of his mouth and broad strokes of his tongue stealing the last remnant of coherency Ittetsu had. He worked slowly at first, then intensified, deepening his motions until Ittetsu could feel himself dip downward at the back of Keishin’s throat.
“Ah, that’s good,” he said. “You’re so… good.” That was all Ittetsu had, all the metaphor and poetics and passion in him dissolved into a single word as his hips bucked and he starting thrusting into Keishin’s throat. The motion shifted the plug in his ass, and occasionally it would hit just the right spot.
Keishin groaned around him, and Ittetsu realized he was jerking himself off. He could leave it here, if he wanted, let them both finally spend themselves and call it a night.
But, it was his birthday.
He fisted Keishin’s hair and slid his cock out of his mouth.
“What are you doing, Keishin?” he asked. He hoped, for effect, that his voice sounded sweet and almost innocent. Not at all like the lustful creature he had become.
“I…” Keishin frowned, doubt and a slight panic on his face. To be fair, in their usual games like this, Ittetsu praising him while fucking his throat was ample enough permission to finish. Tonight was an exception.
“You’re alright,” Ittetsu reassured him. “Just be careful with that. I’m going to want it later.”
Keishin’s face lit up, his usual devil-may-care façade long since cracked. “Really?”
“Yes. But first you need to be good,” Ittetsu tugged on his hair, guiding him back to his cock.
Keishin complied and set back to work. Ittetsu bit his lip, overwhelmed by the indulgence of it all as he thrust into him again and again. The plug was moving too, but not quite moving enough. He kept his grip on Keishin’s hair to control the speed and the depth, bringing himself close to the edge then backing down, repeating until he was senseless and near-wrecked.
He waited until he was breathless and desperate before he pulled himself away from Keishin. “Your ankles,” he panted. “Undo them… I need to get undressed.”
He fumbled at his shirt buttons, his hurried hands quietly cursing the things. Keishin undid the cuff on one ankle through the folds of discarded clothing. Ittetsu freed himself of his shirt, stepped out of his slacks and moved to help him with the other.
Keishin’s pants and underwear were tangled in the cuff, twisted from when he’d turned around to get a better angle at it. Ittetsu pulled at it, laughing at how hungry he was, how annoying the thing was now that he wanted something else. Keishin laughed too, a warm melody in-between little curses as he struggled.
At last he pulled free. Ittetsu kissed him, savoring hints of the nikujaga and the ashy, unmistakable taste of his cigarettes. Ittetsu pressed him down onto the bed, his body begging him to hurry things along.
He handed Keishin the lube and watched him slick himself while he reached around to take out the plug. It slid out after a brief resistance. He shuddered at the absence, then adjusted himself over Keishin.
He sank down over Keishin’s cock, relishing the girth of it, the feeling of himself stretching slightly. Keishin made some noise in the back of his throat as he was consumed, a sweet noise of surrender to the heat of Ittetsu’s body. There was a moment when it felt like too much, as there always was, then Ittetsu relaxed into the deliciously full feeling.
He guided Keishin’s cuffed hands to wrap around his cock.
“Make me come first, okay?” It was a softer command, but one he knew Keishin would follow just as well.
“Yeah,” Keishin panted. He thrust his hips up and into Ittetsu, his hands matching the motion around his cock. “Yeah,” he repeated, his voice breaking into a rough groan.
Ittetsu tilted his hips, finding the perfect angle as Keishin fucked up into him. Waves of pleasure rolled through him as he found the perfect spot. He could feel his mind melting, all lava or molten steel as at last he didn’t have to do anything but ride the sensation of Keishin working under him.
“That’s good, that’s good, good,” he said as Keishin’s fingers found the right pace and angle to match his thrusts. “Just like that.”
Keishin was moaning, his face scrunched in concentration. Ittetsu put a hand over his mouth, a sensation he sometimes enjoyed and sometimes didn’t. His brow furrowed, a sign it was too much. Ittetsu moved it away. Keishin turned his head to kiss his palm, then shifted his hips so he could thrust up harder.
Ittetsu cursed, an obscene prayer to whatever gods of pleasure were there to let him last. Keishin’s cock was moving easily now, and his hands were gliding over him with practiced care. He knew just how Ittetsu liked it, just how to push him over the edge. Ittetsu was a mess, moaning incoherently and drooling a little as he felt the last of his reserves slip.
Ittetsu shuddered as the pleasure swelled, then erupted. He made some impossibly undignified noise, and then he was coming, a hot spurt over Keishin’s chest and face. His mind fogged, thought banished to the void as Keishin continued his thrusts. Keishin was louder now, his thrusts uneven and desperate. His hips bucked up, seeking depth and heat for a few short strokes before he shuddered, a thunderous groan rolling out of him as he finished.
Ittetsu stayed still, letting his thoughts return as he took in the sight of Keishin, sex-wrecked and spent. Gorgeous like a supernova, the glinting light of some distant star come to reach him.
He slipped off of Keishin, then shakily undid his cuffs. He grabbed the tissues, amused at the way his body felt heavy and unresponsive, then handed Keishin some tissues from the box. They wiped themselves off as best they could.
Keishin laid back in the bed, his breathing still heavy. Ittetsu curled up next to him, placing an arm here and a leg there until they had eased their way into a tangle of limbs and warm comfort.
Keishin found words first. “Wow,” he breathed.
Ittetsu nuzzled into him. “A good wow?”
“Yeah… you’re… wow,” he said. That last, simple little word carrying more for Ittetsu than he could know. Keishin stroked his hair absently, and Ittetsu melted into the comforting motion.
“I’m glad,” Ittetsu sighed. “The knife was fun.”
“Mmmhm,” Keishin purred. “Y’did good.”
They could process it more later, when they were awake and ready for a full conversation.
“Happy birthday, Ittetsu.” Keishin kissed him on the forehead.
Ittetsu smiled, warm and safe in his arms. His belly full, his lust sated. None of it expected or obliged, but a choice freely given. “I love you,” he sighed.
“I love you too. Now, can we get under the blanket? It’s freezing.” He shuddered and moved even closer to him.
“You’re always freezing,” Ittetsu teased, then pulled the blanket over them both. “Maybe we should try fire play next year.”
“Maybe,” Keishin said, his voice hopeful. Ittetsu couldn’t tell if it was from the idea of fire or the subtle promise of another year.
Ittetsu would happily take both.